


Put Your Hands Where Mine Are

by compo67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Castiel, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Anal Plug, Baby Castiel, Belly Kink, Bottom Sam, Claiming, Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Feels, Kink Meme, Knotting, M/M, Male Lactation, Marking, Milking, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Sam, Possessive Dean Winchester, Possessive Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Protective Dean Winchester, Self-Lubrication, Top Dean, graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3171227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam told Dean to check the condom. Dean didn't. </p><p>At twenty-seven weeks pregnant, Sam has cravings for strawberry ice cream and Dean. Everyone seems to be on track to forty weeks. Of course, this is Sam and Dean Winchester--nothing ever goes as planned. [Fill for SPN Kink Meme January 2015.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Hands Where Mine Are

Cravings are the best and the worst thing.

The onslaught of ice cream, French fries, and fried chicken mean that at twenty-seven weeks, Sam and baby are doing just fine. His weight is up, his spirits are well despite being the size of small aircraft, and everyone is happy when Sam is eating directly from a carton of strawberry ice cream.

However, some poor soul has to get these supplies, most often at three in the morning.

“Dean.”

“Go to sleep, Sam.”

“I can’t sleep. Hungry.”

“You just ate an entire cheese pizza by yourself. I saw you. I was there.”

“Remember when I asked you?” Sam sits up in the queen bed they share, unhindered by the dark of their room to carry on a conversation. “Remember when I asked, ‘Hey Dean, are those condoms expired?’ or ‘Dean, I think I felt the condom break.’ Oh, or how about, ‘Dean, I’m in heat, so we should probably not have penetrative sex until it’s over.’ Do you remember?”

Sam pokes Dean’s back. “I sure do. Get up. Go get me ice cream.”

Dean has yet to learn a cardinal rule in this relationship—when a pregnant omega says go get food, the alpha goes to get food.

But that doesn’t mean Dean can’t grumble about it the entire time.

By four, Sam is feasting in bed, practically purring with the selection Dean has brought back from the Mini-Mart two blocks away. They’ve moved into a tiny, one bedroom house. There is technically another room, but it’s more like a large closet. The baby, when it makes its debut, will have to sleep in a crib in their room. Sam says he prefers it that way for safety. Dean agrees with the safety part, but he also thinks Sam might change his opinion when the baby displays its inevitable talent for crying.

In any case, Dean settles back into bed.

He’s managed to wrangle a job in town, working as a mechanic. It pays twenty bucks an hour, with three dollars more whenever a classic car comes by. This isn’t his dream job, but his hours are mostly in the afternoons, when Sam is sleeping, and the checks are enough for rent and the baby.

John hasn’t been heard from in a year.

They spent half as long looking for him.

As time passed, the boundary that had always been between them as brothers—and alpha and omega—dissolved. It’s not uncommon. John had just been hoping to make them the exception. Dean has heard of other hunters, other alphas getting their omega siblings pregnant, and subsequently panicking like the sky was falling. Those are the kind of alphas that think with their knots.

True, Dean probably should have listened to Sam about the condoms and his heat.

But when the news came—in the form of Sam throwing up into the sink, waving a pregnancy test with one arm and clinging for dear life with the other—Dean didn’t panic.

He hugged Sam the second Sam stopped hurling lunch.

And maybe that’s why this works.

“Okay,” Sam announces, tossing aside the husk of a pint of strawberry ice cream. “You can knot me now.”

“I’m not a machine,” Dean snorts into his pillow.

“You’re turning down a fuck?”

“I just wanted to sleep.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?”

The bed creaks as Sam moves, turning onto his side and tugging more than his share of the blankets over himself. “I’m huge, so you don’t want to. I get it. Maybe you’ll be kind enough to have sex with me after the baby is born.”

Although Sam is his omega by law and life, he can be a whiny, guilt-tripping pain in the ass of a little brother. Dean turns over to lie on his back.

“Don’t guilt me into sex, Sam.”

“I’m not,” is sniffed quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“How about a massage?”

“…that’d be nice.”

“I’ll fuck you in the morning.”

“Oh, so romantic.”

“Look who’s talking. ‘You can knot me now’ is so poetic.”

Since his eighth week, Sam has turned into a human furnace. He is always warm. Dean places his left hand on Sam’s left shoulder, thumbing over smooth, pale skin. They snap and quip at each other a few more times, as Dean’s hands begin to work tension out of Sam’s neck and back. Dean presses a kiss to Sam’s shoulder; his hands wrap around, tentatively cupping the roundest part of Sam.

With confidence, Sam puts his hands over Dean’s.

This is how Dean knows they’ll be all right.

“I hope,” Sam whispers, drifting off, “that this baby has freckles.”

Dean falls asleep soon after, to the steady rise and fall of Sam’s belly, and the same exact wish.

 

Building a crib is insanity itself.

Dean keeps doing the same things over and over again, expecting different results.

“But it says slot A,” Dean growls, “into slot B.”

“Well obviously there’s a piece missing,” Sam huffs. “Why didn’t you let them come to the house and assemble it? It was five dollars more.”

At thirty-four weeks, Sam is uncomfortable. The trip to the IKEA an hour and a half away was anything but fun for anyone. Home now, Sam is naked, save for a pair of Dean’s boxers. He keeps one hand on his belly at all times, and the other on his hip as he supervises the construction of the crib.

The sight of Sam’s belly reminds Dean exactly why he didn’t opt for in-home assembly.

“Just pass me the damn screwdriver,” Dean mutters, shoulders bristling.

Sam kicks over the screwdriver, too large to squat down on his own anymore. The last check up in town yielded good signs for everyone. However, they’ve both been warned: the baby is big. Sam looks like he’s carrying twins, but in reality, as he’ll mention to Dean every now and then, there is only one in the oven—one, huge, squirming, rolling ten pound baby that is every bit Dean’s fault.

“Dean.”

“What.”

“You’re crumpling the instructions.”

A look down proves that Dean has indeed mangled the two flimsy, useless pieces of paper that came with the crib. He throws them down, sitting cross legged on the hardwood floor of their room. Frustrated, he closes his eyes and attempts to calm down. He’s been on edge since they left the house this morning. Sam didn’t feel well enough to knot before leaving. Something dark and instinctive in his mind tells him that the larger Sam gets, the more Dean needs to knot him before they step outside their home. Coming on Sam, in his mouth or on his belly, isn’t enough. Dean has to knot him, fill him up, and plug him with come. Skipping that upset Dean in a way he couldn’t and still can’t explain.

It was like every alpha within five miles could smell Sam.

Soft, sweet, and clearly fertile.

The thought of any alpha stepping foot into their home, even if it is to build the crib, sends a rush of anger through Dean, straight to his knot. It’s confusing and heady, especially combined with a new scent to Sam he picked up yesterday. Neither of them know what it is, but it’s there, more prevalent today than ever. It’s like cinnamon and cream.

A gentle hand cards through Dean’s hair.

He turns and buries his face in the tender swell of Sam’s middle, breathing in, shuddering when Sam pulls at his hair.

“If you need to,” Sam breathes out, “we can.”

Stretch marks have bloomed in large, red stripes, leaving Sam’s belly pink and flushed. Dean feels movement underneath taut skin. Sam and this child are his.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

This is no response just to get along. Dean can smell slick building up. He can hear Sam’s heartbeat change. The crib can be dealt with later.

 

Dean knots Sam three times within the span of five hours.

Sam is smart to keep bottles of water near their bed. They move to the kitchen after the second time, to eat something quick, and Dean knots Sam on the kitchen floor.

By nighttime, Sam is soaked.

That new scent is as heavy as the roll of Sam’s belly, bouncing and heaving as Sam works himself over Dean’s knot. They’ve moved to the bed. Come covers Dean’s cock and knot, combining with slick and sweat. Sam’s thighs are sleek. His belly taps Dean’s middle with every push down.

The bed creaks and the headboard slams against the wall. Dean helps to hold Sam up, lacing their fingers together, steadying Sam until he finds proper balance. Each tremble of Sam’s thighs makes his belly quiver. Sam tosses his head back and moans, loud and low, fully seated, completely knotted. Dean waits. Just a minute. His knot inflates a little more, fusing them together, forcing Sam to stretch open further. A hiccup is let out, with a hitch of breath Dean finds electrifying. His cock twitches in response to the noises he works out of Sam, tilting their hips, moving his hands down to Sam’s belly.

“Hold me,” Sam pants, his shoulders trembling. “Hold me there. You have to hold me there.”

Fingers splay over the wide mound. Sam twists and swivels his hips, searching for an angle. He finds it, moaning and grabbing onto Dean’s wrists for leverage.

They work together.

Dean maintains a firm hold over Sam’s belly, groping, smoothing over it, spurred on as Sam arches into his grip. The bounce and move of the mound is weighty. Sam is nothing but hot, tight, and wet inside. Muscles flutter over Dean’s knot, sucking him in, clenching down and creating searing pressure.

All Dean can hear is the squelch of him inside his omega.

He steadies Sam.

Holds him still.

Sam shouts the second Dean’s hips snap upwards, pushing his cock and his knot deeper. Dean pounds against a spot that causes Sam’s eyes to roll back and his fingers to dig into Dean’s arms.

Fast as he dares, Dean flips them. He lays Sam on his back, pushes his legs up, and mounts him this way. Eyes shut, Sam cries out, fingers buried in Dean’s hair. A gush of slick coats Dean’s knot. Sam comes hard, spreading his legs open, tears falling.

Dean thrusts down with as much force as he dares. He knows his limit. He drags his fingers over the stretch marks on Sam’s belly, creating circles with his hips. Sam whines, reaching up, running his hands over Dean’s chest and the muscles in his arms. His belly rocks between them. Dean feels his knot pulse. This is his omega. His. Sam is his to knot, to claim, to pump full of come. Sam is his to mark, to smooth his hands all over. He cups the large, moving mound, drinking in the sultry, sweltering scent of Sam.

Closing his eyes, Dean sinks further into Sam, wrenching out a gasp and another orgasm from the omega underneath him.

Dean lets out a growl, one hand over the curve of Sam’s belly and one hand groping a tender, swollen breast, flicking his thumb over the pink, hard nipple.

Every alpha is owned by an omega. Every omega is owned by an alpha. It’s more than propriety. It goes deeper, into the very nerves of Dean. He comes harder than he has all day, his hips frantic and his knot bloated to its largest size. Driving into Sam, Dean releases three, thick, spurts of come, emptying out until he’s completely wrecked.

Wheezing slightly, Sam places his hands on either side of Dean’s throat, and gently helps to bring him down. Dean can’t stop shaking.

He feels dizzy, breathing so hard, and Sam guides him through the worst part—slipping out. His knot is at its most sensitive, deflating, totally spent. Sam hands Dean a fresh plug. He manages to slip it in before too much come leaks out.

Satisfaction hums all throughout Dean, soothing that something dark for the moment.

Hazel eyes look up at him—content.

“Do it,” Sam murmurs, stretched out. “You’ll feel better, Dean.”

The best thing an omega can do is ask. Coincidentally, that’s that best thing an alpha can do, too.

Dean rubs his soft cock over Sam’s belly. He massages it over, working come and slick into Sam’s skin, making it glisten, the stretch marks changing into a darker hue.

His.

He lies down next to Sam and allows the last part of this.

Sam holds Dean against his chest.

A tune is hummed into Dean’s hair.

 

“Dean?”

“What? What is it?” One in the morning. “Shit, Sam, did your…”

“No,” Sam replies, sitting up in bed. “Not that. I still have two weeks to go.”

Dean nods and closes his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep!”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said. I thought I heard something, Dean. Something by the front door.”

“Probably the wind.”

“ _No_ ,” Sam corrects, thwacking Dean’s shoulder. “Something else. Go take a look? Please?”

He’s about to tell Sam that he just finished knotting Sam an hour ago and he’d like to relax before having to go to work in a few hours. It’s his last shift before paternal leave. The shop is giving him four weeks off with half pay, plus he’ll be getting something from the government that he managed to wrestle from them with a few forms and signatures.

But that is not the response his pregnant omega wants.

Yawning, Dean rolls out of bed. He cleaned them up before they settled in for sleep, but he’s still boneless and warm all over, satisfied that Sam is plugged up and marked for another day. At the moment, Dean would make the easiest opponent in a physical fight.

Opening the front door, Dean holds his knife steady. His eyes adjust to darkness. Their street is quiet. He smells the scent of another, but it is faint and marred with fright.

The hairs on Dean’s neck stand on end. He flexes the muscles in his arms as he steps forward, out onto the porch.

A sound is made near his feet.

Dean lifts his knife to slash at the source.

“Dean!”

Sam presses a hand on Dean’s shoulder and muscles his way through the doorway.

“Don’t hurt it!”

“You’re supposed to stay inside,” Dean snaps. “What’ve I told you?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam ignores him. “Just look—I thought I heard it crying and I was right!” Sam can’t bend down, or he would. Very gently, he nudges the bundle on their doorstep with his foot. The bundle cries, squirming around in its place.

“Dean,” Sam says, one hand on his belly and the other on Dean’s shoulder, “it’s a _baby_.”

Dean grips onto his knife a little tighter.

 

The police are useless assholes.

They come by the house, they make a big scene, and then they declare that not a single missing baby has been reported in this county for the past two years. There is no record of this baby in any hospital across the country. The options from here are limited, so the idiotic sheriff says: turn the baby over to the state and have it enter the foster care system or keep the baby for themselves.

To be legal, all Sam would have to do is breastfeed the baby and Dean would need to sign some papers. It’s that simple.

And yet not simple at all.

Dean tries to explain it to Sam: they were planning on one baby. Just one. Not two. They made one. They have supplies, food, and income for one. Foster families may not have the best reputation, but someone out there has to be decent and looking for a baby.

“I’ll get a job,” Sam counters once the police step outside to give them some privacy.

“You would’ve had to anyway for _our_ kid.”

“So I’ll get _two_ jobs.”

“Sam, this is ridiculous. This is not a dog. This is another human being.”

“I know that!” Sam stomps his foot. He is dressed for company, but one hand remains on his belly at all times. “What do you think I have growing inside me, Dean? A magic bean? Don’t talk down to me about taking care of a little one, don’t do that to me.”

With the police outside—the presence of other alphas so near—and this whole situation, Dean is on edge again. His emotions spike when he feels Sam’s heart race and his blood pressure rise. That’s not good for the baby—their baby.

“Just calm down,” Dean tries to say.

“Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down?” As usual, whenever Sam is upset, his shoulders are trembling and his chest is heaving. “Dean, this kid has nothing and no one in the world and you just want to pretend that this never happened! What if something happened to us? What if I were put in a position where I had to leave our baby on someone’s doorstep? What would you hope the people who answered the door would do?”

Scrubbing at his face, Dean breathes out.

“Dammit, Sam, that’s… I would never leave you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Sam replies, his tone softer. “But you don’t always get a say in that. Sometimes, things just happen.”

No one can say whether John left on his own accord or not.

Dean still isn’t sure which outcome would be better.

An officer knocks on the door and brings the baby back in. Still nothing in the system. A paramedic has looked over the baby and found nothing out of sorts about it. There isn’t a scratch on this baby, though it hasn’t eaten in twelve hours or so. The baby is also a boy, just about six weeks old. The only thing it has to claim for itself is a silver medal found wrapped within its blankets.

“Castiel,” Dean murmurs, watching Sam take the bundle from the officer. “What kind of name is that?”

“That’s Dean.” Sam pokes the baby’s nose, balancing it in his arms and over the top curve of his belly. “He’s pretty, and dumb, which makes him pretty dumb. Hi. I’m Sam. It’s so good to meet you, Cas.”

Paperwork is pushed at Dean.

He signs, shakes his head, and swears that he will never answer the door at one in the morning ever again.

As soon as the police clear out and the scent of other alphas dissipates, they both relax. Dean helps Sam back onto their bed, propped up with a few pillows so he can sit.

Sitting next to Sam, Dean picks up that scent again—cinnamon and cream.

He looks over and realizes what it is.

The first few drops of Sam’s milk fall into a tiny, hungry mouth.

 

Sam is on the hunt.

He sits at the kitchen table with a newspaper folded out, slippers on his feet. He is wearing boxers as a formality, feeling that it is strange to walk around naked with a baby in the house. This rule has been extended to Dean as well.

“I’m hungry,” Sam chirps, circling a job posting.

“Make something.”

This time, Dean went to IKEA alone, but he knotted and plugged Sam up before leaving anyway. They’re still knotting four times a day, five or six if Sam feels up to it. That can also be related to the baby currently in a bassinet beside Sam. The production and appearance of milk has meant a surge in Sam’s hormones. He’s one week away from his own due date, but he’s already feeding one little monster. Cas eats constantly, sucking away happily, screaming and crying if not.

Cas is napping at the moment, that other thing he does when not nursing. Sam circles another listing and unconsciously massages his chest and rubs his belly. Dean is aware of these movements. He watches Sam’s hands.

“You know, _you_ could make me something, Dean.”

“I’m building you another crib, that’s all you get from me forever.”

“No it’s not,” Sam says with a smile. “I’m calling your bluff.”

“Oh yeah, it is. That’s it. Nothing more.”

“Dean is such a jerk.”

“Cas is asleep.”

“I know,” Sam huffs, “I was just making a statement.”

 

Two cribs do not fit well in their bedroom, as they discover three hours later.

Dean suggests that the take a break to knot. Sam rolls his eyes—alphas, he mutters.

There is no complaint, however, once Dean is buried inside Sam, fucking him in long, hard strokes, the base of his knot pushing at his entrance. Dean gropes Sam’s ass, driving into him from behind, squeezing the firm, pert globes.

Sam has been softer all over since his first trimester.

“Ah, ah, Dean…”

“Sam? Sammy, what?”

“Move? I… I wanna ride you.”

It’s too late to slip out. This is how Dean is going to knot Sam. But he’ll move, since he’s worried about the pressure on Sam’s belly in this position. Sam insists that it doesn’t hurt now, but Dean can tell that his breathing doesn’t come as easy. Early on, there was some concern about potential harm to Sam or the baby. That was fixed by Sam jumping Dean every time he got home from work, grinding down onto his knot, and fucking until all Dean could do was go, “Wow.”

Holding Sam by his belly, Dean does the majority of the work as they move. He brings Sam’s hips forward and his back, easing carefully until Sam is seated and he is lying down. The bed creaks with all their movement. It’s a wonder, Dean thinks briefly, that this bed has held out.

The sight of Sam stretching his arms, creating a tantalizing line of his figure, is breathtaking. Sam is soft, tender muscle, long and lean. The extra weight looks good on him. Dean runs his hands down Sam’s back, over the slope of his ass, and around to the meat of his thighs. Shuddering, Sam sits back, pressing over Dean’s knot. Slick pushes out. Sam eases down, holding himself steady. The underside of his belly bumps against Dean’s thighs.

As Sam inhales, Dean pushes up. His knot slips in and Sam moans, twisting his hips, leaning forward. Dean can’t take his focus off of Sam opening and taking him completely. He punches out a breath as Sam bears his weight down and starts to fuck in earnest. This is all sweltering, quivering heat. They rock together in a rhythm that causes them both to shout out.

Dean wraps his hands over Sam’s middle. He holds Sam solid, allowing Sam to work without worry.

Sam’s hands join his.

Fingers laced, they massage the wide, heavy mound.

Their hips snap into a faster, more desperate beat.

Sam comes once, muffling his scream with his hands, his entire body shaking. His belly heaves. A gush of warm come builds up over Dean’s knot. Breathing in deep, Sam starts to move again, searching for a second orgasm, mewling when Dean begins to thrust up at a different angle. Pressure builds in Dean’s cock; his knot inflates to its fullest. He hears Sam gasp at the sensation and it sends a ripple of pleasure through Dean to know what his knot does to his omega. His, his, his. Sam is his.

“Gonna,” Sam pants, swiveling his hips, “… oh Dean, Dean, Dean, fuck me. Oh god, harder, please… please, Dean… want your knot… fuck me, please…”

Only one thing interrupts Sam begging for his knot.

That is the baby crying in the crib.

“Shit.” Dean flinches at the shrill sound. “Sam, tell him to quiet down.”

“Uhn…” Sam is gone. He is riding Dean like the last escalator on earth. “Something… feels… different.”

Panicked, Dean asks, “It’s not…?”

“No,” is assured. “But… weird.” Sam’s hands go to his breasts. He moans as he squeezes and Dean immediately replaces his hands. The baby continues to cry, but there’s no way to get to him until Dean comes. This has to be finished hard and fast.

A trickle of milk releases from both of Sam’s peaked, pink nipples.

“Oh, fuck!” Sam bucks against Dean, pushing his chest into Dean’s hands. “Do that! Dean, keep doing that!”

Dean works his hands at the same rhythm of his hips. He flips them again, laying Sam on his side, Sam holding onto the headboard for leverage. He watches the swell of Sam’s belly as his breathing picks up. Milk starts to gush out in streams. Every stimulation of Sam’s nipples results in a thicker spray. It coats his belly, Dean’s hands, and the sheets. Sam comes twice, shouting again, one orgasm right after the other. The pressure on Dean’s knot works him until he bites into the meat of Sam’s shoulder and starts pumping come.

Sam is halfway filled when he pushes Dean’s hands off of his breasts. Dean moves his hands to the glossy, smooth expanse of Sam’s belly.

The baby is still crying and Sam begins to panic.

“Are you done?”

“No!”

“…now?”

“Sam!”

Finishing knotting prematurely is dangerous for both alpha and omega, but it would hurt Sam the most and tear him—not a good thing for someone so close to delivery. Dean has to finish on his own time, which is not the baby’s time. His knot releases a larger load than usual. Sam shivers when he feels it.

“I feel so full,” Sam murmurs, pressing a hand to the underside of his middle. “Dean…?”

Dean can’t explain it. He could probably knot Sam again right away, but he focuses on breathing. The baby crying doesn’t help the mood, either.

As soon as he can, he pulls out of Sam, putting the plug in place. He flops onto his back.

“Jesus, I’m a mess,” is grumbled by the omega carefully climbing off the bed. “Ugh, walking right after feels weird.” Sam is closer to waddling lately, with his belly hanging lower, but the plug has that effect too. There’s so much come, some of it dribbles down Sam’s leg, prompting him to scrunch his nose.

Quickly, Sam cleans himself up with a towel, and goes over to the crib.

Dean closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of them on the bed. He’ll get up in a minute and change the sheets. For now, he basks in peace.

“Who is hungry?” Sam coos. “Who’s my hungry little guy?”

“Me,” Dean mutters, sticking a hand up. “Make me a sandwich.”

“Ouch. Slow down.” Dean’s comment is ignored. “Cas, sweetie, not so fast. You just ate an hour ago. This kid acts like I never feed him.” Sam walks back to the bed and sits on the edge. He looks out the window and back at the baby in his arms.

With a sigh, Dean sits up. Their shoulders touch.

Sam looks over at Dean and smiles, dimples flashing.

“Dean, I’m so happy,” he purrs.

Dean nods and presses a kiss to Sam’s cheek.

 

Dean and Cas sit on the living room couch, watching Sam pace.

The due date has come and gone right out the window. Sam is overdue by three days and fed-up. Forty weeks and going _suck_. He’s hot all the time, sweaty and thirsty and cranky. There’s an ache in his lower back that won’t go away, and his breasts have swollen. That last one wouldn’t be such a problem if it also didn’t result in more stretch marks, which to Sam are pure evil.

Since five in the morning, Sam has been walking around the house, occasionally moaning in pain, snapping at everyone and everything except for Cas. Cas can do no wrong. Dean is hiding behind him.

A small nest has been made in the kitchen for the delivery. This gives them the best access to running water and a little more space. Dean bought a twin bed mattress and placed it where the table used to be, then left the rest up to Sam. Now, Sam walks over to the nest and starts picking at it again, rearranging shirts and towels. Cautiously, Dean and Cas follow.

Kneeling on the mattress, Sam refolds a few things and looks over the birthing supplies one more time. There is a pair of gloves, absorbent pads, a cord clamp, a bulb syringe, lube, gauze pads, Chapstick, paper towels, and a heating pad. To the side, Dean has placed a stack of clean washcloths and socks. An omega at the clinic mentioned to him that during their delivery, their feet were cold and it helped to have socks handy. Sam refolds everything.

For the moment, Cas is sleeping in his crib in their room. The bassinet, however, has been moved to the kitchen. For the first few hours after birth, Dean doesn’t want to move anyone. Underneath the waterproof sheets fixed on the twin bed, Dean has fitted fresh, clean sheets so they won’t have to worry about much clean up afterwards.

“Ba?” Cas gurgles, thumping his fist against Dean’s chest. Blue eyes look at him expectantly. Every passing day and Cas looks less like a wrinkly, tiny old person, and more like a baby. Dean has been told not to expect a picture perfect baby right after delivery.

“No can do, kiddo. Tap’s empty there.”

Cas’ nose crinkles. He doesn’t like being told no when it comes to being fed.

Dean sighs. “Look, dude, you _just_ ate an hour ago.”

“Let him eat,” Sam snaps. “Just… help me up. I don’t wanna do it here.”

“You should, Sam. The more time you spend here the better you’ll feel when it’s time.”

When Sam passed his original due date, they called the clinic. A nurse had little to offer except for a round of Picotin, which Sam considered for two seconds before declining. Without drugs, all Sam can do is wait.

Yesterday, they knotted once, but for the first time in Sam’s whole pregnancy, it hurt. Dean hasn’t brought it up today.

“Fine, fine, whatever,” is huffed. Sam sits and scoots into the middle of the mattress. He takes Cas with care and settles in faster than Dean expected. The mood swings have been worse lately, but Dean supposes he can let Sam off the hook.

The second Cas latches on, Sam heaves a sigh of relief.

He’s pumped a supply of milk to last both babies a week should something happen. But they have no more room in the freezer for any more bottles. Cas, despite his appetite, can’t keep up with the milk supply technically being made for two. Sam’s body hasn’t gotten the hint that one baby is not yet born. For the moment though, Cas is the happiest person on earth, wrapping his small hands over Sam’s breast as he eats an early lunch.

“Can I get you something?” Dean leans against the counter. Their house is quiet for the moment, no one requiring a diaper change or burping. Oh, and Cas is fine, too. He smiles at his own internal joke.

“Ice cream,” Sam says with a sniff. “Please.”

Dean opens the freezer and fishes out one of the last pints of ice cream. “It’s okay, Sam.”

“Do you even know why you’re comforting me?” Tears fall. Dean sits down next to Sam and Cas, popping open the carton and feeding Sam a spoonful of strawberry ice cream.

“Nope. Don’t need to.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“Yup.” Dean takes a spoonful for himself. “What’s on your mind?”

“This is real.”

“The ice cream?”

A tell-tale rolling of the eyes takes place. “No, I mean… giving birth. I’m scared. isn’t that dumb?”

“Doesn’t seem dumb to me, but then again, what would I know?”

“Promise you won’t leave when it happens.”

“Fuck, Sam, how can you ask that?”

“I… because I know it’s gonna be messy.”

“Like some blood is really gonna make a big difference to me. That’s all it’s gonna be, Sam, some blood and fluids. Hey.” Dean nudges Sam’s chin. Their eyes meet. “Do you trust me?”

Not all alphas care about their omegas’ feelings, desires, or needs. There are some omegas who go their entire lives without uttering a single honest word about what they want or need in their lives. Dean is not that kind of alpha. He would never allow Sam to be that kind of omega, either. Either they work together or something has to change.

Watery hazel eyes look up at Dean. “I do, Dean.”

Sometimes, Sam needs to hear things from his alpha. And sometimes, Sam needs to hear them from his older brother. “It’s going to be okay,” Dean says, firm and honest. “I’ll be there with you, and guess what, by the end of it, we’re going to have a baby.”

From between them, Cas cries, on cue.

“Another baby,” Dean sighs. “Sorry, sorry.”

Sam smiles. Dean wipes away his tears and takes Cas back, so Sam can rest and eat what’s left of the ice cream. Cas fusses at first, but decides that being burped is a fun activity. He spits up a little on Dean’s shoulder, but it’s worth it to see Sam laugh.

The rest of the day passes in easy comfort.

 

A week later, at three in the afternoon, a nurse from the clinic informs Sam and Dean that pregnancies have been known to last up until forty-four weeks. “Forty is an average number, just a mean,” she sighs to them over the phone. “Being at forty-two weeks doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. Have you felt movement?”

“All the time,” Sam grouses. “Like a god damn dance hall.”

“Well then, I suggest you rest and gather your strength. You’ll be needing it.”

Sam hangs up on her and glares at the phone. “You’ll be needing it,” he snaps, hands on his hips. “Doesn’t she know I’m fucking tired of the free rent I’m giving?”

Once again, Dean hides behind Cas. Forty-two weeks and four days pregnant means that Sam is extra grumpy. He has eaten a veritable buffet in the past two days, hungry and nauseous at the same time, and he waddles from the living room to the kitchen in search of more food. Dean has dinner in the oven—a pasta casserole he put together while he had Cas in a sling, snug against him—and Sam curses it while he hunts for a bag of carrots.

One red stripe has appeared on Sam’s belly. It starts from the top and extends all the way to the underside, right smack in the middle. Dean is fascinated by that line. Every time they lay in bed he traces it, feeling movement underneath, awed by the capability of Sam’s body.

“God, I want sex,” Sam sighs, munching on carrots in a way that makes Dean fear for his knot. “Can we fuck?”

Dean covers Cas’ ears. “Hey, I got an innocent kid here, potty mouth.”

If there were prizes for rolling eye skill, Sam would have a trophy room. “Dean, put him down for a nap and let’s go. C’mon. Go. Do it.”

“What’d I say about not being a machine?”

“I’m gonna blow you so good,” Sam rumbles, sitting next to Dean on the couch. “Mmm, then I’m gonna let you fuck me from behind.”

“Are those supposed to be threats?”

“Huh?” Eyes fluttering, Sam already looks fucked out. “Dean, c’mon… please?”

Thankfully, Cas is already pretty much asleep. Dean stands, sets Cas down in the bassinet in the kitchen, and rocks him a few times. Once blue eyes are closed, Dean toes back to the living room. Sam is naked now, having shed his boxers, and looking every bit hungry for Dean. A spark runs through him.

“Say you wanna go outside,” Dean murmurs, unzipping his jeans.

“But I don’t.”

“Just say it, Sam.”

“Fine. I wanna go outside.”

“Again.”

“Dean, I wanna go outside.”

Outside is where other alphas can smell Sam. They can feel this young, sweet omega heavy with child, hormones thick in the air. They can also pick up the scent of Dean’s mark.

Dean kneels in front of Sam, spreading his legs open, rubbing his belly.

“You’re mine,” Dean states, his voice dark and low. “Always.”

Biting his bottom lip, Sam nods, inhaling sharply. “Yours, Dean. All yours.”

 

Half an hour later, Dean has Sam knotted on his lap.

As he pumps Sam with come, he maintains both hands on Sam’s breasts. He flicks each sensitive nipple with the rough surface of his thumbs, pinching, rolling, and milking. Sam arches back into Dean’s arms and goes slack, boneless from two orgasms. One hand on his belly, Sam breathes out, shivering when he feels Dean’s knot pulse.

Milk pours down.

Sam hiccups and closes his eyes.

Dean works each breast until they’re empty. The couch and floor are a mess, but he can deal with that later. He fights to stay awake long enough to slip out of Sam, move them to the kitchen, and situate him. His knot deflates and he pulls out, though this time he doesn’t slip in a plug.

He pauses and sniffs the air around them.

Wait.

“Dean?” Sam yawns. “What’s wrong?” He stands up, one hand on his belly and the other on the small of his back.

The scent spikes. Dean scrunches his nose. A sweetness fills the air, but it is overpowering. There’s a mix of cinnamon and cream, but something else. Something that dark part of him recognizes.

“Are you having contractions?”

“What? Uh, sorta. I’ve been having them all week.”

“I gotta clean you up.”

“Right now? I wanna go lay down.”

“No. Go to the bathroom.”

“But…”

“Sam.”

“Okay, okay. You’re so bossy.”

Although they are each tired and ready for a long nap, Dean ushers them into the bathroom. He turns the water on in the shower and helps Sam step in. Sam murmurs that he doesn’t need to be fussed over so much—he’s a grown omega, he can shower by himself. Dean remains insistent. With the showerhead and a soft washcloth, Dean carefully cleans Sam all over. He does allow Sam to wash his hair, but Dean’s eyes never leave Sam or his belly.

Outside, an alpha walks near their property; Dean can smell them. He growls, his grip on Sam tightening as Sam steps out of the shower.

“Easy,” Sam breathes. “They’re gone.”

“I wish there was more time,” Dean grumbles. “Fuck. I just don’t want to risk it.”

“Risk what? You’re freaking me out.” A large towel is wrapped around Sam’s shoulders.

“You don’t feel it?”

“Uh… no?”

Dean snorts into Sam’s wet hair. “Your water’s about to break.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“Wanna put money on it?”

“No!”

“Then trust me. You should drink water. Fuck. I really want to come on you again. Just to make sure.”

“No one is going to burst in here and try to knot me while I’m giving birth,” Sam snaps. “Stop thinking with your knot. Besides, I don’t feel any different. I just wanna sleep.”

It’s true that there could be a margin of error. But Dean is pretty sure of what he smells and feels happening to his omega. The scent hasn’t faded; if anything, it strengthens every time Sam moves. As quickly as Dean can manage, he ushers Sam into the kitchen. Cas is still asleep, oblivious to everything from his bassinet.

Nervous, Dean wrings his hands, kneeling on the mattress.

“Calm down,” is murmured. “Why are you so jumpy?”

“I have to,” Dean admits, pushing down the pajama pants he just changed into. “I’ll feel better if I do.”

“Okay, okay.”

Anxiety does not help Dean get hard. The sight of his omega, spread out and lovely, safe within their nesting area, does. Within ten minutes, Dean comes over Sam’s belly, chest, and face. He sighs in relief, wringing every drop out onto Sam’s breasts. Not an ounce is rubbed or wiped off, not until it sets for ten minutes, making Dean’s claim more permanent. His. Sam is his.

Every care is taken to clean Sam up. Kisses are exchanged. Dean breathes in deep. That scent is addictive.

Cas wakes up. He cries and fusses in the bassinet. Sam opens his mouth, about to ask Dean to please hand him the baby.

And then it happens.

Sam yips, shudders, and grips onto the sheets.

A gush of liquid drops from between Sam’s legs.

“Dean!” Hazel eyes widen. “Dean, my… oh god…”

The first major contraction hits.

Dean cleans Sam up with a washcloth and kisses him quick and light. Surprisingly, even with the pain, Sam kisses back, smiling for a moment. Their eyes lock. Dean nods.

Their lives are about to change.

 

Along with the supplies, Dean has a kit of his own.

He checks Sam’s heart rate and blood pressure two minutes after his water breaks. Thankfully, this happened over one of the disposable pads and Dean cleans it up in two seconds. Sweat breaks out all over Sam and his belly begins to heave as the contractions slam into him. Dean props Sam up and spreads his legs. He frowns and Sam demands to know what the frown is for.

“You’re not dilated at all.”

“So?!”

“You need to dilate so you can push.”

“Uhhhhn,” Sam groans into a pillow. “I told you to check that condom! Dammit! I told you!”

“Hey!” Dean snaps back, sitting up. “You got one baby free out of this, no effort required. This will be over in an hour. You need to relax.”

There are two things wrong with that.

First, it does not take an hour. Second, never tell a pregnant person in labor to relax.

 

Sam is in labor for thirteen hours.

He nurses Cas four times throughout, before his nipples become swollen and puffy. Dean switches to bottles for Cas after the fourth time. Thankfully, in those thirteen hours, Cas only cries a few times, and never when Sam is moving around.

Thirteen hours pass with nothing but pain. Dean pushes Sam to drink water and crunch on ice chips. He gives Sam a small snack in the middle. Three more times he checks Sam’s vitals—everything is fine, Sam just dilates one centimeter every other hour.

Large, uncomfortable, and in pain, Sam screams at the fourteenth hour, legs bucking as he feels the need to push. Hands moving fast, Dean assembles all the necessary supplies. He can do this. The first sight of blood is more than a little alarming.

Dean washes his hands. Sam panics. Dean grabs two washcloths and runs them under cold water. When he kneels down again, he presses one washcloth to Sam’s forehead and the other to the top curve of his belly. Gloves are slipped on. Fresh pads are laid down. Everything else is set nearby.

“Don’t push until you have to,” Dean murmurs, tilting Sam’s hips. “We might have to move you.”

“Move me?! Where?!”

“Squatting. Breathe normal, Sam. The harder you breathe, the more energy you use.”

“Stop telling me what to do!” Sam screams. The contractions are ripping through him seconds apart. “It hurts! Dean! Oh my god!”

“Do you need to push?” Dean keeps his voice elevated but he’s careful not to shout.

His face red, scrunched up, and covered in tears, Sam shakes his head. “No… I don’t… know… Ooohhh god, another…!”

The second Dean extends a hand for Sam to hold, Sam grasps it and tries to crush it.

This isn’t working. Sam is dilated but nothing is happening.

“I’m moving you, Sam,” Dean explains firmly. “Gonna need you to stand up.”

At the announcement of standing, Sam’s eyes widen in horror. He protests. He swats at Dean. He sobs and moans in pain, trembling all over, his mouth chapped and his hair plastered against his forehead. Dean’s chest squeezes to see Sam in agony, but he can’t panic. One of them has to be calm, and Dean is not the one pushing ten pounds of baby out of him. He wipes Sam’s face with a fresh washcloth and presses their foreheads together.

“You need to stand,” Dean commands. “You’re working against gravity right now. You’ll stand until the head pushes out and then we can lie down again. Do you understand? Sammy?”

No more questions. Sam’s eyes roll back as another contraction hits.

Dean stands Sam up on his own, cradling Sam to his chest, allowing Sam to scream as loud as he wants.

From the bassinet, Cas cries. Sam’s nipples start leaking at the sound.

Just a minute later, Sam fists Dean’s shirt and howls into Dean’s chest, shaking all over. “Push,” Dean encourages, “that’s it, push. One more time. One, two, three. Push.”

Sam is large enough that Dean fears he might actually be carrying twins. If so, he will have to get Sam to the hospital. They’re able to handle one newborn, but not two. And the strain of twins could hurt Sam; it’s a lot of blood to lose and energy to spend.

It takes four pushes for the head to crown. Sam begs Dean to make it stop.

After the fifth push, Dean lays Sam down again, this time propping him up. Dean sits cross legged, Sam’s legs spread over his thighs, and he puts on fresh gloves. A layer of lube is applied. Sam sobs into a blanket, moaning lowly, shuddering as he begins to push again.

“I’m here, Sam, right here.” Dean presses his fingers on the insides of Sam’s thighs. “See? Right here. C’mon. Push for me. That’s it. Good job, steady, keep pushing.”

“Dean!” Sam’s legs quake. “I can’t do this! It’s… not… I can’t!”

The head is already an inch out. But every time Sam panics, it draws back slightly. The longer the head stays like this, the more Dean is concerned the baby could be in distress.

Cas has stopped crying. Dean looks over; he found the bottle in the bassinet all by himself.

Moving his hands, Dean cups Sam’s belly. “Look at me, Sam.”

“No….” Sam tosses his head back, chest heaving. “Oh god…”

“Sam! Look at me. Put your hands where mine are.”

Sniffling, Sam complies, his vision blurred from pain and tears. Another contraction hits, but he maintains eye contact with Dean throughout it. Dean breathes loud enough for Sam to pick up the rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. When another contraction hits, Sam moans instead of screams—that’s an improvement.

Fingers laced, Dean speaks.

“Whoever this baby turns out to be, I’m going to love it until my dying breath, Sam. I will always, _always_ be here for you and our kids. Do you hear me? Yeah?” Sam nods. “Good. Now, keep listening.” Dean explains that the baby is big, just like the clinic said, and Sam will have to give two more strong pushes for the head to pass through. After that, the shoulders will be the next tricky part, but then they’re home free.

Dean is ready.

Another hour passes. Dean pushes more water into Sam.

With Sam’s legs on his shoulders, Dean leans forward and eases the baby’s head out. The baby is face down, but Dean can already see a tuft of dark brown hair.

Blood covers the mattress. Sam pushes four times to get the shoulders out. However, shoulders out doesn’t put them in the clear. Sam stops pushing. He stops screaming. He stops crying.

“Sam!” Dean barks, hands on the baby. “Sam! Stay awake!”

Hazel eyes look around the room for Dean’s voice.

“Sam, I swear…” Tears begin to fall. “…don’t you dare! I told you I’d never leave you—you sure as hell can’t leave me. Push!”

Pale and weak, Sam closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath. Dean can’t stop shaking.

Sam gives one last push.

After that, everything is one big blur.

Dean’s hands move faster than ever before. He clamps the cord, removes the mucus from the baby’s airways, and cuts the cord. Sam moans, wheezing, drifting in and out. Dean starts to clean the baby, wiping it down gently. As soon as it isn’t covered in blood, Dean wraps it in a fresh blanket and holds it close to himself.

“Hey,” Sam murmurs, white as a sheet. “Fork… over… the goods.”

Dean is not crying. He’s not. He’s not on the brink of sobbing in relief as Sam takes the baby and balances it on his chest while Dean takes care of everything else. Sam breathes out raggedly as the placenta passes. Dean wraps it in a bag the clinic gave him. He’ll dispose of it later, along with anything Sam’s blood has touched. For the moment, he focuses on Sam.

A bevy of thanks are muttered as Sam stops bleeding. There are no tears that Dean can see. He presses down on Sam’s belly as soon as it’s safe. The last of the birth passes. Clean up commences. Every movement is done as carefully and gently as possible. Ten minutes is all it takes for Dean to have mom and baby clean, on a fresh bed, and settled in.

Then he realizes that he’s been so busy, he has no idea what their baby is.

“I can’t believe I gave birth to this,” Sam breathes out, handing the baby over to Dean for measurements. “He’s got your big head. Thanks a lot.”

“He?”

“Mmhmm.”

Dean places the newborn on a scale and gets a peek. He counts toes and fingers. He fixes the puff of hair on his son’s head. And finally, he makes eye contact with the bundle.

Tobias Jonathan Winchester weighs in at eleven pounds, thirteen ounces. He is twenty-two inches long and immediately hungry. He latches on within an hour of being born, after causing his parents fifteen hours of work.

Orange juice and crackers are fed to Sam while Toby eats his first meal.

Color comes back to Sam’s face as he nurses both Toby and Cas. Cas suckles happily, unbothered by having to share. Sam looks up at Dean.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, “I would do this all over again.”

“Me too,” Dean whispers back. “Well… except for that scary part.”

Sam smiles and shakes his head. “Nah, I knew you had me.”

“Oh good, I’m glad someone did.”

“I want another one.”

“What?”

“I want more kids.”

“…you have two, right here.”

“I know,” Sam huffs, “but I want _more_.”

Their hands clasp over Toby and Cas.

Dean doesn’t argue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> /sniffs/
> 
> i always get carried away with kink meme fills. the prompt was for a simple birth scene. XD but then i saw another prompt i really liked (unfortunately the pairing wasn't what i write) so i combined both. i hope OP is still happy with the result.
> 
> i had so much fun writing this. :D i hope y'all enjoy reading it! 
> 
> this is my first time involving Cas in a wincest fic. it feels strange. o_o


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